Cold - Z.M (Book 1, Cold Trilogy)

Chapter 30 - Well pampered, and thoroughly...

I squeeze my eyes shut as his hands run up my spine— repeating the movement too many times to where I can't help but grunt with relief. I press my face into the silk sheet, trying to suppress myself from laughing. It's too quiet.

Amy wasn't kidding, he's really fucking amazing and I can see the raw jealousy in Zayns eyes. But I've come to the conclusion that I really don't like full body massages. If Anton touches my butt one more time, I will kick him where the suns don't shine.

I giggle as his hands distract me, cupping around my neck and he seems to keep his attention there too. I'm not trying to piss Zayn off but I can't help it. It just feels so good and I'm really ticklish. I bite down on my bottom lip to stop the groans from escaping my mouth, but it's no use.

The room is so big, it pretty much echoes. I blush inwardly. How do these things pop into my head?

When I feel a little more massage oil drizzle down my back, I shiver slightly and I watch Zayns gaze darken — a deep dark brown —as Anton's hand are replaced on my back again.

"Do you play any sports?" Anton questions.

I think he's Russian, I really can't tell.

Is sex a sport?

"No. I have two left feet." I mumble incoherently.

"Oh. maybe you sleep wrong, because you seem to have a lot of tension in your neck."

No — Really?! I wonder fucking why?

I hope he doesn't see my hickey.

"Yeah, maybe." I mutter, opening my eyes to glare at Zayn and he's smirking wickedly at me but it soon fades away when he flicks his gaze at Anton.

So possessive, he's been like this since Anton and Amy walked in.

I shift slightly as Anton's hands run down my waist again and the glowering, chilling scowl Zayn sends me is enough to stop me from enjoying the feeling.

If I close my eyes, I could imagine for a split second that Anton's hands are Zayns. But it would give Zayn the wrong idea. I'm walking on egg shells right now and I don't even want to imagine the thoughts that are running through his head. But Amy's hands are all over him? Should I be angry too? They're just doing their job.

After half an hour of glares and slight relaxation, I'm left alone with Zayn again. His towel is wrapped around his hips, revealing his slight happy trail and V line. He hands me my robe, which I take without any hesitation and wrap it around me.

"Did you enjoy his hands all over you?" Zayn questions, voice cold and distant and It's given me a piece of his mind. He's not at all happy, like I guessed. He's possessive, what else would I have expected. I get the idea, based on his tone— that he's not actually looking for an answer. But I do anyway, I always do.

"You're asking me that?" I mutter, eyebrow risen.

"You're mine. Remember that." He warns in a low tone.

"I was thinking of you."

He bites his lip while his gaze darkens with lust and eyes that slightly narrow. "Were you now?"

"Yes sir." I bite my lip this time and he steps closer. Just one step brings him closer towards me, and I step back, only to be stopped by the massage bed behind me. I gulp and he hoists me up onto the bed and the existence of oxygen is no longer in me.

"The amount of punishments that are in my head right now is frustrating the fuck out of me." He runs a hand threw his hair and throws his towel in the open duffel bag. "As much as I want to fuck you right here Victoria, you lack stamina. I don't want you passing out on me." He says quietly and gentle. "Understand?"